


a prayer for which no words exist

by GStK



Series: i just finally heard that unnoticed silence of never having one again [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV, Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 01:48:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19263526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GStK/pseuds/GStK
Summary: you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.





	a prayer for which no words exist

**Author's Note:**

> FFXIV AU.  
> Spans end of ARR to the beginning of HW.

he sits across from, perhaps, the most important being in creation. or maybe this is the one that brought everything into creation. the tales of the twelve tell him otherwise but he is willing to discard all belief in the face of the sight he beholds.

god has invited him over for drinks. he can't help but to stammer all over himself, making a mess of holy words. god smiles at his attempts and raises his teacup.

"calm yourself, sandalphon," he says, and sandalphon cannot help but to be. he is enraptured, and his every movement is dictated by something incredible when he takes similar hold of the cup that's been prepared for him. details -- the wild growth of flora around them and the clashing modesty of their single table -- nothing quite filters in. he is arrested. captivated. so needy.

god smiles and says, "won't you try my brew? i've been experimenting with new leaves," -- as though they should already be intimately familiar.

sandalphon takes a drink with a twisted tongue. he flinches inevitably. he is rewarded with the smallest of smiles and everything is wonderful again.

"it is too bitter, i take?"

"n-no, no, it's… perfect."

"i'm glad. thank you for entertaining my pointless requests."

"it's--!"

an honour. but sandalphon erupts from bed with a start, hair and tail askew. he can feel his heart beating out of his chest.

he collapses back into the sheets some seconds later, but he's left with a huge chunk taken out of him, a missing piece that's been there for forever.

* * *

sandalphon is not a man of religion in excess. he grew up with a tribe and a blade that never suited him, and the first thing he did was turn his back. the world is cruel and without justice. the balancing of mana is the only act that can soothe his soul, sometimes, or doing the right thing when the time comes.

"you spoke to god!?" lyria exclaims, a hand over her mouth in shock. hawawa. hohoho. she's so easily taken in by a story that sandalphon isn't even sure is real. it's a good one to tell, though, encouraged by their grey teacher, both apprentices squished together in this awkward act of bonding. (sandalphon came first but lyria had more enthusiasm and more drive and how was x'rhun to ever refuse? a little spark of jealousy has burned in him ever since.)

"it was a dream," sandalphon reiterates, to no avail. lyria is so excited by the prospect.

"sandal-- sandalphon?" she entreats, stumbling over his new name, waiting with wide eyes until he confirms she's got it right. "sandalphon! it's prophetic! who knows what this could mean! the twelve are blessing your training!"

"oh? i didn't even catch his name," sandalphon replies. where lyria would typically deflate, though, she does not.

"so ask him the next time you see him!"

he sighs. "lyria--"

"you'll see him again," she confirms, hands clenched into fists, but there's this haunting note in her voice and the fire catches her eyes just right, and the shimmer of the thanalan sands glitters just so --

he's almost shaken. he bites back and raises to his feet. "you don't understand."

she smiles. "no i don't, but you don't either!" and it's frustrating how right she can be.

* * *

another night and another visit. it's every night. the details are starting to soak in. their meeting place is a garden and it's the most resplendent thing he's ever seen. everything is in balance here: no overgrowth, no tipping of the black and white scales. only a god could achieve this sort of equality. it's breathtakingly beautiful.

that's not what robs sandalphon of his tongue, though. it's the man in front of him. it's everything and all the questions he wants to ask that he is afraid will go too far and break this perfect illusion.

"your coffee is a masterpiece," he compliments, and he means it. the brief anxiety of honesty is worth the smile he gets. gods. men would go to war over that smile. "have you done anything different to change the recipe?"

"ah… i am trying my hand at growing sweeter beans," god explains. "i want to offer the richest selection of flavours of which this plant is capable. it restores energy and gives men a new vigor. i am sure you have noticed, sandalphon."

he hasn't. he doesn't even know why god would be trying to grow coffee plants into existence when they're supposed to be able to just… conjure things into existence. but what questions go too far? he nods, instead, in a poor facsimile of agreement, and he hides behind his cup.

god is still smiling at him. it's such a fond expression that sandalphon cannot meet it head on. the tension builds on one side like a tsunami, but god, surely, is an impenetrable wall.

eventually god sighs. "our time grows short, i'm afraid. thank you for this peace you've offered me, sandalphon."

"wait," he bursts out, making god lift his brows. "might i have your name?"

the gentlest smile of all meets him then and there. he can't believe he didn't ask sooner.

"lucifer," god tells him, and it's not byregot, not oschon, not thaliak and his head is spinning--

and then he's awake again, grasping at nothing, wanting for everything.

* * *

"never have i heard tell of a god named lucifer," their instructor hums. "mayhap it's a messenger?"

"or an angel," lyria prattles. she's just as excited by this mystery as before. sandalphon makes a sound and adjusts the grip on her rapier; it doesn't sit right between her small and delicate hands. "an angel! a messenger of light! what if you're being called to help the WARRIOR of light!?"

that man, the one going around solving all of the realm's troubles. he would rather face an entire order of kobolds by his lonesome than have anything to do with him.

"he's wonderful!" lyria protests, frowning at the look of disgust on sandalphon's face. "he's doing what we're supposed to do but better! he's a hero."

a child who was taken in by stories and never quite let go. he feels sorry for her sometimes. now, he just feels annoyed. "i'm here to learn the art of the sword and mana, not galavant around saving every idiot who trips into a hole."

"sandalphon--"

"now, that's quite enough, you two," x'rhun intervenes, looking amused by it all. "it's time to get going."

it's time to get going and save another intrepid fool who's fallen into a hole. he delves into silence, and every breath of the day fills him with thoughts of a single name.

* * *

"lord lucifer, " he begins, but god shakes his head, and sandalphon feels a sinking in his stomach.

"please. call me lucifer." but why? and how? god, angel, messenger of light or whatever he is, he's above sandalphon, and that has been obvious from the moment he woke up in this golden place. "we are equals here. or shall i call you scholar sandalphon in return?"

"that's not-- i'm not -- there was the flood," he stammers, grasping for every bit of knowledge his instructor has offered, "and that was centuries ago. i'm not a scholar of anything."

"but you study the discipline, both of them, do you not?" he poses, and that convinces sandalphon all over again. how could this be anything but god? mayhap his name is not amongst the twelve. but.

"i do. i do," he says, more weight behind it the second time. "but it's nothing… nothing compared to you."

lucifer gives him a long look that his brain struggles to decipher.

"l-lucifer,' he tries and only then is god pleased. praise be. his heart pounds out the drums and his lungs fire all the trumpets.

"yes, sandalphon?"

"... did you make this?"

lucifer looks around, at this, the garden. he says, "no. but i saved it."

he's saved everything. he has three blades and each of them serves justice.

"from--?"

that long look again. sandalphon can't put a name to it. "the darkness."

and sandalphon is cast into the pit again before he can ask why.

* * *

the twelve. the gods. sandalphon is uncomfortably slumped over a journal these days. lyria peeks and prods at him but he won't be swayed. he needs to… he needs to make these things real.

… real.

but it's fiction at the behest of nonfiction. and why should that be so? every time he tries to make a shape of the man out of words he's found he always comes up short. the words have a life of their own and resound in a new way. it's not lucifer on those pages. it's not sandalphon either, though it's written with his hand. it's aether that takes on a discarded note and an errant flurry of angles. it's a new kind of god. praise be.

but it's not lucifer so what's the point? if he can't make heads or tails of the glory he sits across from every night, what's the point. each page goes to the flame and sandalphon doles out the execution like a heartless wretch. lucifer's gone and stolen it from him. praise be.

that name is written across him like an equator. its sound would be enough to divide light into dark and scatter him into two. but no one ever says the right name. there's sounds that skirt close and raise his hopes until they hit the brink of the waterfall. he needs to learn to stop hoping.

he never learns.

"have you tried drawing?" lyria suggests when he's without sleep for another night and a visit to the garden of the heavens evades him.

"i don't have the hand for it," he explains -- snaps, really, based on how lyria gives this little flinch away from him and his lantern. she's clutching herself. then, her hands form into fists,

"what, what about making coffee?"

he raises his head. lyria smiles when she sees the light of his eyes. the darkness, banished.

the darkness is brought back in a glass. when lyria takes her first sip, she finds it endlessly bitter. and that's good.

it's good, right?

* * *

"why do you make coffee," sandalphon asks, the absurdity of the question already evident in his voice, "if you're trying to make the world lighter?"

it's so absurd that lucifer looks quite stunned by him. sandalphon feels ashamed and it is evident by his ears, his tail. but when lucifer lays hands on him for the very first time to pet his ears, offer him sympathy, sandalphon is without any embarrassment. he is without anything but wonder and a choked sound in his throat.

"sandalphon. it is good to ask questions. i brew coffee for what it brings to people. and i brew coffee to see you."

"oh." oh.

"... i apologise. was that too forward? i tend to fail in matters of the heart.

"no, you're… it's…" nothing is fine. "it's -- okay. i'm okay."

"if you dislike these visits…"

"nothing could be further from the truth." that heart, stolen from him, it's out on the table between them and it's beating so fast and they can both see it plain as day. the visible concern on lucifer's face might truly be enough to strike him down. "i like this. i like… seeing you."

the relief that sweeps the face of god brings him down to earth too. he's fading by the time lucifer sets a hand on the table between them, but he holds on long enough to see that smile.

* * *

"the warrior of light," lyria pants, her hair and her hands gathered around her like a veritable storm. "we have to help him! we can't just let them say those things!"

and if it's true?-- he doesn't say, because even their teacher is looking grim and shaking his head. but what can two seekers and a little hyur girl do? they're not heroes. they're just wanderers, helpers of the meek. they can't pull off the sorts of mind-bending tricks the warrior of light can.

"he didn't hurt the sultana. i know it!" and with a mighty huff and a mighty puff, lyria decides: "i'm going after him!"

"you're mad," sandalphon tells her, irritated because lyria is so stupid. so stupid. they're not heroes and they're just two seekers and one little hyur girl, a girl who could easily end up on the wrong side of an inquisitor's spear --

"then you go with her, sandalphon," x'rhun proposes, and he smiles when sandalphon turns accusing eyes on him. "i'm just as daft and as mad as her. it's true. but a true red mage never abandons those in need."

"... i hear tell he's on the way to ishgard," says sandalphon wearily. the god in his mind would tell him… not to overlook this. the teacher in front of him is saying the same thing. and the part of his aether that hasn't been crippled by twenty-some summers of life on this star,

it breathes a sigh and gives in to the determined look on lyria's face. if the lyres and bards sing songs of anyone, it will be her.

"off you go then." both lyria and sandalphon give a start.

"teacher! what about you?"

"trouble has its way of finding me," he says with a smile, a meaningful look at sandalphon, "and so will you. go and do what you're called for."

is this a sign? is this what it means to be wanted by the star? it's all lunacy, sandalphon things, but lyria is pressing her palm into his. he's the one with an effervescent dream and need for god in his head.

"..."

and then they were two.

* * *

"was it you who chose us?" he asks boldly over the next round of coffee. this time the garden is in moonfall and there's chimes twinkling in some faraway place.

"i'm afraid i'm not sure what you mean," lucifer says in the regretful way of his, putting his cup down. "but if you were called by hydaelyn, there is no ignoring her. heed the signs she gives to you."

"... are you one of them?"

"... i cannot deny that i might be, sandalphon." lucifer's face now turns grave and there goes his heart again, ricocheting all over the place. "i truthfully could not tell you why we continue to meet here, glad as i am for it."

"couldn't?" sandalphon presses desperately. "or won't?"

"i would give you everything i have," comes the return. it knocks him sideways. that look on lucifer's face says everything and nothing. it's like rose petals overflowing from a running bath or sprinkling light descending from shattered glass panes. it's so beyond his comprehension that he can't put words to it, only images. "i would give you everything you desire and everything i could, but i cannot."

"i… thought the twelve could do anything," sandalphon murmurs. _i want to meet you_ presses down on his tongue. _i want to hold you. i want the day and night to stop their divide and bring us together_.

lucifer sends him a queer glance. "do you think i am one of the twelve, sandalphon?"

"well, if you're not," he stammers, "what are you?"

that heaviness set on the table between them again. lucifer picks up his heart, pricks a hole in it, and drinks up from everything sandalphon is.

instead of an answer lucifer kisses him and that's when sandalphon learns the cruelty of the gods. he doesn't dream of the garden again, after that.

he's drifting on solids. no matter how much he tries to sleep, it doesn't change. everything in him echoes of lucifer because you can never quite escape the man who ripped the life and the love straight out of you, whether he's real or not.

he is a man drained half empty. he is leaking aether from the hole in him. he's wishing he was a ghost but he's not.

the city of ice cuts straight through him. more than that are the worried glances lyria sends his way. it makes him hold her hand a little tighter.

* * *

"look! it's him!"

they're already in ishgard on tenuous circumstances. they don't need lyria's shouting to draw any more attention to them. she's right, though, and the warrior of light is a tall man of distinction who carries himself with… flamboyance.

he turns and he has lucifer's face. he comes upon them and in lucifer's voice he asks, "hail. how might i help you?"

"no, how can WE help YOU!" lyria insists from beneath her scarves and warm layers. "you're the warrior of light! we've come for you!"

"oh, you needn't know me on such terms, though i am glad for your aid," he says in a gentleness that doesn't agree. he's so decorous, and nothing about him is humble, despite the way he tries to paint himself. there's a wrongness to his portrait. "off of the stage of battle, i am called lucio. who might you two be?"

"i'm lyria! and this is sandalphon!"

he smiles at them both and he's looking through them in an instant. sandalphon wants to shout. he doesn't, because… this is the closest reality he'll get, isn't it? moons of dreams and dreams of the sun and this is it.

following the trail of this man will lead to lucifer, surely, even if it's at the end of the world.

"are you good with a blade?" lucio asks politely, looking at the rapier sheathed to sandalphon's side.

"better than you'll ever be."

"sandalphon!" lyria huffs. lucio laughs. it's a hollow sound, disappears into the air. "be nice!"

"be just as you are. lyria, sandalphon -- i don't suppose you know much about the dragonsong war?"

the warrior of light makes a companion out of him, but only and just for this moment. it's all for lucifer. everything is for lucifer.

his equator cracks on lucio's shadow and his spine contorts with the promise of wings.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary adapted from works by Richard Siken.


End file.
